


Illusion of Difference

by pl2363



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cheeseball, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/pseuds/pl2363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker and Mirage find some common ground.</p><p>Written for the tf rare pair prompt- Sunstreaker/Mirage: pride and prejudice</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusion of Difference

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, grammar abuse. 
> 
> Cheeseball ending, cause I excel that those. *sorry!*

Knowing he shouldn’t stare, but unable to help himself, Mirage watched Sunstreaker from the opposing wash rack stall.

They’d all just returned from a rather intense battle with the Insecticons in a swampy area down south. He and Sunstreaker were not well suited to such a boggy, slimy area, unlike their other teammates, Hound and Trailbreaker, who had also been dispatched on the call. Those obnoxious Insecticons liked munching on the flora and fauna there, which destroyed the delicate ecosystem according to Hound. After an intense fight, they’d managed to drive them off, but not without getting coated in swamp muck in the process.

“Stupid fragging bug patrol,” Sunstreaker muttered as he scrubbed hard at his own plating.

Mirage knew how much pride Sunstreaker look in his looks, and felt some measure of sympathy for him. “Few things more irritating than removing centuries old muck from between panels, hm?”

Sunstreaker glanced at Mirage, optics narrowing. “I guess.”

That’s right, he had a nasty temper. Mirage had been momentarily lulled into thinking Sunstreaker might actually socialize like a civilized mech. Turning back to his own plating, Mirage began to scrub a little faster. It was a shame really, Sunstreaker was quite beautiful. Before the war, a mech like him would have been courted by the upper echelon of their society. Sadly, Sunstreaker was too young to know a life without war. Created in the midst of this seemingly never-ending faction fighting had left him extremely rough around the edges. 

Almost done with his own plating, Mirage jumped at the sound of Sunstreaker throwing his scrub brush with enough force to break the handle and dent the stall wall. 

“I fragging hate this planet!” Sunstreaker yelled. 

Mirage stared at him with wide optics. 

Sunstreaker looked over at Mirage, pouted frown on his lips. “I hate being dirty.”

“So do I.” Mirage canted his head at Sunstreaker. “But I doubt the poor scrub brush is to blame.”

Sunstreaker glared down at it. “Can’t reach my back and that stupid bug sent me aft-backwards into the muck.”

“There’s a simple solution to your problem. One that doesn’t involve assault on a scrub brush,” Mirage replied, doing his best not to make a face at Sunstreaker’s ridiculous fit.

“What’s that, smart aft?” Sunstreaker asked, deeply frowning.

Mirage turned the water off in his own stall, and crossed to Sunstreaker’s picking up the brush end of the scrubber. “All you need to do is ask for a helping hand, you know.”

Posture sinking a little, Sunstreaker’s angry look faded to something more along the lines of embarrassed. “Usually ask Sides, but he’s on duty.”

Mirage raised an optic ridge at Sunstreaker. “Well, I’m here. Why not ask me?”

Matching the raised optic ridge, Sunstreaker half-smiled. “You really want to scrub _me_ down?”

“It wasn’t on my agenda, but I would be willing to help out if you’d like,” Mirage replied. “All you need to do is _ask_.”

Looking resigned, Sunstreaker sighed air from his intakes. “Would you please help me get the gunk off my backplates?”

Mirage nodded, then twirled his finger. “Turn around.”

Heaving another sigh, Sunstreaker turned for him. Mirage set to work with the half-broken scrub brush, taking his time to get all the grime all off his plating. Surprisingly, Sunstreaker was compliant, moving where Mirage asked him to, and allowing him to clean him up thoroughly.

“Done,” Mirage announced as he finished a last rinse.

Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder at him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Mirage replied, handing Sunstreaker the broken brush as he stepped out of the stall grabbed and a cloth to pat himself dry.

Sunstreaker did the same, taking a cloth to dry himself off with.

A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell between them, and Mirage quickly finished up. He glanced at Sunstreaker and forced a smile. “Well, see you around.”

“Sure,” Sunstreaker replied.

Mirage nodded a goodbye and made a hasty retreat from the wash racks. He wasn’t sure how it had suddenly gotten so awkward, but he didn’t think staying would remedy the situation. As he turned a corner he put up his invisibility cloak. He liked walking around unseen sometimes. It provided a sense of privacy he often didn’t have here on the crowded base. Space to think in. He wondered how different mechs like Sunstreaker would be if not for the lifetime of war they’d experienced. It was sad really.

…

Sharing a few glasses of high grade with Hound was always interesting. Being able to process the richer fuel more easily than his comrade, Mirage could consume quite a bit without becoming overcharged. Hound on the other hand, well, get two servings in him and he was babbling on and on about whatever subject he happen to find interesting.

Mirage walked back toward his quarters with his invisibility cloak on, chuckling to himself at how silly Hound was while drunk when he happened on a visitor at his door.

Sunstreaker set a container down in front of the door, and was scribbling something on the lid with a laser scalpel. Mirage moved closer, and tried to read the note. He frowned, unable to decipher the poorly written letters.

“Your handwriting is terrible,” Mirage said.

Sunstreaker jumped back, dropping his impromptu pen. His optics were bright as he glanced around.

“Oh right, my cloak. My apologies.” Mirage re-materialized.

“What the frag, Mirage! You go around invisible all the time?” Sunstreaker snapped as he balled his hands into fists.

Mirage smiled. “More often than you probably realize.”

Growling a little, Sunstreaker narrowed his optics at Mirage.

“What was that note supposed to say?” Mirage asked, craning his head to look at it again. “Mirage, story bout...?”

“Sorry about throwing a fit in the wash rack earlier,” Sunstreaker said. “Though, _now_ I’m not. You’re just an aft like everyone else.”

“I didn’t intend to offend you,” Mirage replied. Hm, maybe he was a little drunk after all. He’d only been lightly teasing, but perhaps it wasn’t coming across that way...

“Making fun of how I write? That’s not offensive? I should put my fist through your face,” Sunstreaker spat at him.

It was then Mirage realized he’d hit a sore spot for the younger mech. “I am very sorry, Sunstreaker. I was just teasing. It wasn’t malicious, I prom--” 

Sunstreaker squared up to Mirage, face only micrometers away from his. “The only reason you aren’t in pieces on the floor right now is because I hate recharging in the brig.”

With that, Sunstreaker spun around and stomped off down the hallway.

Mirage frowned. “For a former noble mech, I sure know how to put my foot in my mouth sometimes,” he chided himself.

He scooped up the box and entered his quarters. Setting it down on his desk, he lifted the lid to see what Sunstreaker had left him. Inside the box were two pots of paint, one white and the other blue, both matching his coloring perfectly. There was also a set of brushes meant for detailing. Mirage glanced down at his chestplate, noticing the small scuffs and dings to his finish. Sunstreaker, so obsessed with his own appearance, had given Mirage the means to tend to his own finish. It was a thoughtful gift. Too bad he was terrible at detailing his own plating. Though, he knew who to ask to do it for him, assuming he could make amends. 

…

 _Stupid idiot noble mech, thinking he was better than everyone.._. Sunstreaker stewed in his sour mood from the previous night. He was in the rec room with Sideswipe, Bluestreak and Jazz. They were watching some weird human movie on the large screen, laughing and joking around, while he sat at the end of the sofa, frowning. 

“What’s with yer brother, Sides,” Jazz asked. “He’s lookin’ even more grumpy than usual.”

Sunstreaker glared at Jazz.

“Dunno, he’s been like that since last night,” Sideswipe replied as he looked over at him. “What’s up Sunshine?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sunstreaker replied in a listless voice. It annoyed him when Sideswipe called him ‘Sunshine’, but he was too focused on being angry with Mirage to properly yell at his brother for using that stupid nickname.

Sideswipe raised an optic ridge at Sunstreaker.

“Wow, he _is_ acting weird,” Bluestreak said, surprised by the lack of venom in Sunstreaker’s response. “Why are you acting so strange, Sunny?”

“Frag all of you,” Sunstreaker said, getting to his feet and making his way to the entrance. “I’m out of here.”

“We were just teasing ya, Sunny!” Jazz called after him.

Why did everyone suddenly want to tease him? _I hate being teased_ , he thought as he stalked through the hallways. He especially hated being teased about things he was bad at, like his writing skills. It wasn’t his fault he’d had to teach himself how to write. Not like he was all highly educated like Mirage. Stupid fragging noble--

Sunstreaker came to a halt as he turned down the hallway his quarters was on. Mirage stood leaned up beside his door, the container at his feet.

“Hello there, Sunstreaker,” Mirage said.

Glowering, Sunstreaker cautiously walked closer. “What do you want?”

Pushing away from the wall, Mirage picked up the container, hugging it to his chest. “I want to apologize. I was a little overcharged, and extremely rude to you. I am very sorry for my behavior." 

The anger drained from Sunstreaker. He wasn’t used to anyone actually apologizing to him. Not even Sides apologized when he was being an aft to him. “Okay.”

“And I wanted to also thank you for the thoughtful gift.” Mirage lifted the container slightly as he smiled. “But, I am a terrible detailer. I was wondering if you had any time, perhaps you could work your magic on my finish?”

“Uh, I guess.” Sunstreaker felt completely thrown for a loop. Mirage was being... nice. And not fake nice. He seemed really genuine.

“If now isn’t a good time, I could come back later?” Mirage asked, canting his head. 

“Nah, I can do it now.” Sunstreaker waved his hand over the entry pad, and the door opened. He gestured for Mirage to go in first.

Inside, Mirage stood around awkwardly as Sunstreaker cleared a chair off for him. He shared his room with his brother, and between his personal maintenance supplies and Sideswipe’s not-so-secret stash of high grade, plus the various weird things they’d collected over the vorns the room was pretty cluttered despite it’s double occupancy size.

“You can sit down here.” Sunstreaker pointed to the chair then took the container from Mirage’s grasp.

Mirage gracefully sat down as his gaze wandered the room. “You two have quite a collection of items. Is that a crystal from the gardens?”

Sunstreaker glanced at the large, clear crystal on the shelf next to his berth. “I dunno. Found it in some wreckage. Thought it was pretty so I saved it.”

“I believe that’s from the Crystal Gardens,” Mirage said with a small smile. 

“Oh. Cool.” Sunstreaker squatted down, setting the container on the floor and removing the lid. He then took out the paint pots and set them on the desk beside Mirage.

“I was impressed at the accuracy of color,” Mirage said, picking up one and holding it against his forearm.

“Always been good at figuring out colors.” Sunstreaker laid out the brushes, and grabbed a solvent container off the corner of the desktop. After neatly lining up all the supplies, he took the blue paint from Mirage’s grasp, and opened the lid.

Mirage sat up straight in the chair, optics bright as he watched.

“Haven’t touched up anyone else other than Sides in a long time.” Sunstreaker used a fine brush, handlining the edges of where blue met white on Mirage’s chestplate.

“I feel honored, then.” Mirage remained still, allowing Sunstreaker to work.

Silence fell between them again, but unlike the day before in the wash rack where it had gotten sort of weird, this felt more comfortable. Mirage didn’t squirm like his brother would, which made it easy to do all the touch ups he spotted.

Finishing up, he took a step back, optics roaming Mirage’s frame as he carefully inspected his work. “You’ll need to apply wax to help keep it protected.”

Mirage nodded, as he stood up. “Thank you very much, you do excellent work. I haven’t been spoiled like this in a long while.”

Sunstreaker wasn’t used to compliments or appreciation like this, and he felt his faceplates heat a little. “It’s no big deal.”

“Take the compliment,” Mirage said with a warm-looking smile.

“Sure,” Sunstreaker replied, shrugging a shoulder.

Heaving a sigh, Mirage stepped closer to Sunstreaker, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. “You are far more than just your looks, you know.” He then tipped his head and leaned forward, planting a kiss on Sunstreaker’s lips.

At first, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what to do. Mirage was older, and _so_ not his usual type, but after a moment he gave in, returning the impromptu kiss.

Pulling back, Mirage gazed into Sunstreaker’s optics. “A proper ‘thank you’.”

Sunstreaker laughed a little. “That’s how nobles thank one another?”

Mirage smiled as he sighed air from his intakes. “I’m not a noble now. I’m a soldier.”

Sunstreaker half-smiled. “And a pretty good kisser.”

“Pretty good?” Mirage balked. “Perhaps I should try that again.”

“Maybe you should,” Sunstreaker replied, grinning.


End file.
